Lothair, by Benjamin Disraeli

Chapter 1

“I remember him a little boy,” said the duchess, “a pretty little boy, but very shy. His mother
brought him to us one day. She was a dear friend of mine; you know she was one of my bridesmaids?”

“And you have never seen him since, mamma?” inquired a married daughter, who looked like the younger sister of her
mother.

“Never; he was an orphan shortly after; I have often reproached myself, but it is so difficult to see boys. Then, he
never went to school, but was brought up in the Highlands with a rather savage uncle; and if he and Bertram had not
become friends at Christchurch, I do not well see how we ever could have known him.”

These remarks were made in the morning-room of Brentham, where the mistress of the mansion sat surrounded by her
daughters, all occupied with various works. One knitted a purse, another adorned a slipper a third emblazoned a page.
Beautiful forms in counsel leaned over frames embroidery, while two fair sisters more remote occasionally burst into
melody as they tried the passages of a new air, which had been dedicated to them in the manuscript of some devoted
friend.

The duchess, one of the greatest heiresses of Britain, singularly beautify and gifted with native grace, had married
in her teens one of the wealthiest and most powerful of our nobles, and scarcely order than herself. Her husband was as
distinguished for his appearance and his manners as his bride, and those who speculate on race were interested in
watching the development of their progeny, who in form and color, and voice, and manner, and mind, were a reproduction
of their parents, who seemed only the elder brother and sister of a gifted circle. The daughters with one exception
came first, and all met the same fate. After seventeen years of a delicious home they were presented, and immediately
married; and all to personages of high consideration. After the first conquest, this fate seemed as regular as the
order of Nature. Then came a son, who was now at Christchurch, and then several others, some at school, and some
scarcely out of the nursery. There was one daughter unmarried, and she was to be presented next season. Though the
family likeness was still apparent in Lady Corisande, in general expression she differed from her sisters. They were
all alike with their delicate aquiline noses, bright complexions, short upper lips, and eyes of sunny light. The beauty
of Lady Corisande was even more distinguished and more regular, but whether it were the effect of her dark-brown hair
and darker eyes, her countenance had not the lustre of the res, and its expression was grave and perhaps pensive.

The duke, though still young, and naturally of a gay and joyous temperament, had a high sense of duty, and strong
domestic feelings. He was never wanting in his public place, and he was fond of his wife and his children; still more,
proud of them. Every day when he looked into the glass, and gave the last touch to his consummate toilet, he offered
his grateful thanks to Providence that his family was not unworthy of him.

His grace was accustomed to say that he had only one misfortune, and it was a great one; he had no home. His family
had married so many heiresses, and he, consequently, possessed so many halls and castles, at all of which,
periodically, he wished, from a right feeling, to reside, that there was no sacred spot identified with his life in
which his heart, in the bustle and tumult of existence, could take refuge. Brentham was the original seat of his
family, and he was even passionately fond of it; but it was remarkable how very short a period of his yearly life was
passed under its stately roof. So it was his custom always to repair to Brentham the moment the season was over, and he
would exact from his children, that, however short might be the time, they would be his companions under those
circumstances. The daughters loved Brentham, and they loved to please their father; but the sons-in-law, though they
were what is called devoted to their wives, and, unusual as it may seem, scarcely less attached to their legal parents,
did not fall very easily into this arrangement. The country in August without sport was unquestionably to them a severe
trial: nevertheless, they rarely omitted making their appearance, and, if they did occasionally vanish, sometimes to
Cowes, sometimes to Switzerland, sometimes to Norway, they always wrote to their wives, and always alluded to their
immediate or approaching return; and their letters gracefully contributed to the fund of domestic amusement.

And yet it would be difficult to find a fairer scene than Brentham offered, especially in the lustrous effulgence of
a glorious English summer. It was an Italian palace of freestone; vast, ornate, and in scrupulous condition; its
spacious and graceful chambers filled with treasures of art, and rising itself from statued and stately terraces. At
their foot spread a gardened domain of considerable extent, bright with flowers, dim with coverts of rare shrubs, and
musical with fountains. Its limit reached a park, with timber such as the midland counties only can produce. The fallow
deer trooped among its ferny solitudes and gigantic oaks; but, beyond the waters of the broad and winding lake, the
scene became more savage, and the eye caught the dark forms of the red deer on some jutting mount, shrinking with scorn
from communion with his gentler brethren.